


Echoes

by hennethgalad



Category: The Lord of the Rings. - Fandom
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25442203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: amuse bouche, with ale.
Kudos: 2
Collections: Tolkien Gen Week 2020





	Echoes

The room had darkened so gradually that Estel found himself hunching over his book before he thought to light another lantern. The air was soft and still, the rain had left a haze like an echo, but an echo that hushed. Estel turned the page, willing Turin to recognise Beleg, and greet him with delight...  
There was a familiar knock at the door and Elrohir strolled in, a large stone flagon hooked on one finger, swinging easily. The elf put the flagon on the table and Estel knew from the solid thud that the flagon was far from empty.  
"What is it?"  
"Ah! This is ale, from Bree. Glorfindel has returned, driving a wagon, with Asfaloth walking alongside disapprovingly." Elrohir laughed "Poor Asfaloth! But it is good to see Glorfindel again, and to hear that the Road is so quiet that it was felt safe to undertake so slow a journey." He pulled the cork from the flagon, sniffed the contents and grinned, then took down two goblets and filled them with the foaming ale. The bitter tang rose around Estel, who kept his face still, determined not to admit that he still preferred the sweet taste of fruit to even very fine wines, which his stomach, and Wise Erestor, insisted was in fact rotten fruit.   
Elrohir raised his goblet "To the Butterburs of Bree, long may they flourish at the sign of the Prancing Pony!"  
With a slow, wistful air, Estel echoed him "The Prancing Pony... I long to see these places! When do you think I shall be allowed?"  
"Oh, not for another year or so yet. But do you no longer love the valley as you used to?"  
"Oh yes! More than ever! This will always be my home. But... I am almost twenty, and I have never been anywhere but out on the moor, or to the edge of the mountains. I want to meet people, I... I want to meet girls..."  
Elrohir sighed and looked out at the shadows "You will have to seek further afield than Bree, my friend. There is nothing, nothing between here and the Havens."  
"But Glorfindel loves Bree! He is always singing their songs."  
"Oh well, Glorfindel is Glorfindel... Wherever he goes he has a wonderful time. They say Mandos wept to see him leave!" he laughed again, then sighed "You will not be so welcome in Bree as you are here. But look! Here is the very taste of Bree, drink deep, my friend, and do not dwell on the thoughts of the morrow. But what has set this mood upon you, what are you reading?" The elf picked up the book and looked at the title.  
Estel took a slow breath "I always think of you as Beleg."  
Elrohir turned to him with a strange smile "Do you? I am honoured, both that you would compare me to such a revered elf, and that you think of me as an elf."

Estel gaped at him. It was like being told that Manwë was unwell, it was unimaginable that the perfect Elrohir could see himself as flawed in any way. "But of course you’re an elf! Your grandmother is Galadriel and your grandfather is Celeborn! You could hardly be more elvish!" he turned, to the empty air where Elladan would normally be, then back to Elrohir "Where is Elladan?"  
Elrohir filled their goblets "He is busy. He will be busy for a month, doing... doing elvish things."  
"What elvish things?"  
"Dull things. Exercises."  
"Why are we not there? I do not wish to be left behind!"  
"Oh Estel, you don’t want me to bore you with things you will never need to know."  
"Because my life is so short, and there’s no point in explaining when I shall be dead while you’re still debating who should tell me."

The raw fact stood between them like a quivering sword. Elrohir though of Fëanor and Fingolfin; but this was different, for neither he nor Estel held the blade.  
"Oh Estel, my poor mortal friend. I shall be Beleg, if you will promise not to slay me!"  
The mortal's anxious eyes brightened, the fair young face lit by a great smile of gratitude and joy "Will you?"  
"Whenever you need me, I shall be there. I shall sing your praises to the maiden of your choice, and stand with you against all foes."  
"I... Do you promise?"

Elrohir looked thoughtfully at Estel, who remembered the Oath, and the fate of Finrod, and frowned at his own heartfelt need for friendship.  
"There is a little of the elf in you, Estel, and a little of the mortal in me. And these little parts are the same for both of us. We are kin, you and I, though distant kin, yet still the memories have not been lost even among your people; even in Bree the echoes of our forbears mighty names are sung in the evening. But more than that, we are friends, and I mean what I say, I will stand with you." He paused for a moment and then laughed "But Turin and Beleg! It is such a heart rending tale! They are not the only friends to emulate - what of Finrod and Bëor? Or Galadriel and Melian?"  
The mortal's eyes were round "That’s true, that’s very true. But they too were parted in the end..."  
"Very well, what of Lindir and Erestor? They have been friends since before Helcaraxë. And they both live happily here, studying so hard they forget to eat."  
They laughed together, at ease in the soft quiet air of the sheltered valley, their ears no longer hearing the endless hissing roar of the water.


End file.
